Guns
by ohmanwhatsthis
Summary: Kururu feels his abilities aren't being put to their best use. When Giroro comes by with a request from Keroro, he makes his anger known.


Giroro warily stood outside of the entrance to Kururu's lab, hesitating to open the door. But, of course, in the rare event that Keroro actually wanted to get something done, they needed their tech. And naturally, despite the fact that Kururu installed espionage cameras throughout both the base and the Hinata household, he was still too much of a proud asshole to actually open the door_ for_ anyone, regardless of how he could easily see Giroro standing right there. Still, even though he had to do this, Giroro was unnerved. Kururu was well-known throughout the Keronian Army as one of the most frightening individuals in the explored universe.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he mustered up enough courage to type out the entry code that Kururu had distributed to the platoon,  
0030896678159440. This password was exemplary of Kururu's penchant for number wordplay, and he intended it to be read as "Oresama ha Kururu-senpai fakku shiyou," translating somewhat roughly to "I want to fuck my superior Kururu," spoken in his own trademark cadence. Viewing Giroro inputting the number on his computer screen, Kururu chuckled a bit, setting aside his plate of curry rice to lower the volume on the bizarre music he pumped through his ever-present headphones when he was alone. It wasn't really "music" in the strictest sense, but it did have a (somewhat erratic) beat and melody, as it was essentially recordings he made of playing scratched-up old soul records a speed below their intended RPM. He made these recordings whenever one of the vinyls he used when he DJed live started scratching.

The doors opened, releasing their locks and hissing loudly as they slid away from each other. The corporal slowly stepped in, looking from side to side as if scanning for traps. "Ah, Giroro. What a pleasant surprise, ku ku ku," Kururu said, picking up his plate of curry rice again. "What brings you here?" he asked, not turning around to face the person to whom he was talking. "Well, it's Keroro," Giroro began, once again gulping, "he wants you to inve-"

"Is it a gun," Kururu interrupted. The words seemed to be a question, but his delivery was completely monotonous, as if it were a solemn statement.

"W-what do you mean?"

"Is. It. A gun," Kururu repeated, putting his fork down and not moving an inch.

"W-well, ye-" Giroro was cut off by the sound of Kururu's plate shattering against the wall beside him. The curry stuck onto it in a clump, while the rice slid down before plopping onto the ground.

"No. No, I refuse," Kururu droned, standing up and advancing towards Giroro. He was obviously angry, but he did a remarkable job of keeping his face as stoic and expressionless as he usually did. "Guns are literally the only thing you people want. 'Oh, Kururu, make a gun that does this! Oh, Kururu, make a gun that does that! Oh, Kururu, make a gun that does another thing!' You have one of the brightest minds on Keron among your ranks, and you keep squandering his talents on these stupid guns! They're mere trifle! Given about a week to myself, I could build an incendiary explosive with a blast radius larger than the sun and roast Pekopon alive, like a rotisserie chicken! And yet, all you want is these goddamned guns, ku ku ku ku!" He kicked a bit of machinery to the side before continuing. "What a waste."

At this point, Giroro was inching backwards, attempting to escape the menacing sergeant major, but he bumped into the wall, just barely avoiding touching the curry. Kururu's face was only a few centimeters away from his own.

"Let me ask you something, corporal. Have you ever heard of the 'deep web'?" Kururu intoned, seemingly changing the topic, but Giroro was aware that no matter how capricious the genius appeared, he always had some way of linking everything he spoke of together. "It's a colloquial term for the part of the internet that normal search engines can't access. Their crawling bots just can't view it for one reason or another. Well, since day one on Pekopon, I've developed spider bots that totally ignore everything that causes normal spiders to not archive pages. I have several hundreds of thousands of terabytes across every hard drive I own, and I've created a backup of the entire internet. To me, _there is no deep web._"

Kururu shoved Giroro towards the door, and then concluded, "I want you to go tell Keroro that if he were to look at the entire archive, no matter what's there, on the seediest, most vile and wretched and disgusting sites that fall under the radar of the world at large, he will find nothing that could even _compare_ to what I am going to do to him if he so much as attempts to waste my time with such trash as guns ever again. Kuuuuuu ku ku ku ku kuuuu," he laughed. But this wasn't his ordinary creepy laugh. This laugh sounded as though it came from the bowels of hell itself, the most disconcerting and horrifying sound imaginable, resonating deep within not just Giroro's ears, but the very core of his soul.

The doors shut and locked, leaving Giroro out in the hall. He could do nothing but curl up into a ball and turn white, as if he were Dororo after a particularly triggering incident. Nothing he had ever seen on the battlefield could have prepared him for the disturbing events of the past few seconds. He made a mental vow with himself to never go into Kururu's laboratory ever again if he could help it, then staggered to his feet and ran as quickly as his feet could carry him back to his tent to curl up again with his cat.

The next day, during the normally uneventful invasion meeting, the whiteboard at the front of the room had "NO GUNS. JUST TRUST ME ON THIS ONE." scrawled upon it in Giroro's distinctively poor penmanship before anyone even showed up.


End file.
